


Beer and Champagne

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [19]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drinking, M/M, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A true King knows how to take care of his people. Sips takes Trott on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beer and Champagne

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially a request for something sweet, but kind of grew outside the bounds of a drabble. So now it is a gift for one of my fandom friends. I hope you like it, Ash, and it is the joy you wanted to read.

“Right, so Trott and I are going out,” Sips announced with a solid clap of his hands. Three faces turned to him, startled by the sound. “Ross and Smith, there’s leftovers in the fridge. Bed time is midnight. Trott and I have our phones but that is for an emergency only. Otherwise I don’t want to hear a peep, got it?”

Ross nodded, looking somewhat guilty. He hugged his knees, tail curled over his feet. Smith opened his mouth to argue, but Sips cut him off with a dead eyed stare. 

“I. Do. Not. Want. To. Hear. It.” Sips bit off each word, pointing his finger for emphasis. Smith grimaced and folded himself up on the sofa, ignoring the consoling hand Ross stretched along the cushions towards him. Sips hadn’t been happy last night, bringing them home. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d picked someone up from a police station in the middle of the night, but it had to be a long damn time ago.

Trott watched them, standing in the no man’s land between the hall and the living room. He was still wearing his blood colored oxfords, his button down shirt and nice trousers, his pockets full of stones and shells. Too much of his day involved meetings, damage control and fixing things. People had seen something, and police made reports. At least they didn’t find a body. He tried to remind himself that Smith thankfully got that part right.

“Trott, you want your jacket?” asked Sips, walking towards the chair piled with coats. “It’s a bit nippy out there.”

“Sure.” Trott let Sips settle the leather jacket on his shoulders. He stared at Ross, who looked troubled. Smith didn’t meet his gaze, stubbornly staring down. They hadn’t really spoken since Trott returned this afternoon. The sound and fury of last night melted into cold, tense silence before Trott banged out the door. It hadn’t changed much on his return. 

“You, and you,” Sips said, pointing at Smith and Ross. “Stay in, and stay out of trouble, you got me?”

“We got it,” Ross said, his voice low and mournful. Smith snorted and grabbed the television remote to change the channel. Sips shrugged on his bowling team jacket, and grabbed his bag from the closet. He hated to see Ross’ sad look, but Sips was certain he knew better. Ross had been there after all, and even if Smith was a formidable monster he still felt like Ross could probably stop him if he had to. He felt an uncomfortable sympathy for his father in that moment, and he ruthlessly pushed that feeling down.

“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” Sips said as he yanked open the door. Even the air in the hall felt lighter, Trott imagined, letting the door fall shut with a bang behind him.

 

* * *

 

“Bedtime?” Trott asked dryly, looking sideways at Sips. He unfastened his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Just came out,” Sips laughed. “Sounded like something my parents would have said when they were mad at us.” 

Trott shook his head and settled back into the hard plastic seat. The bowling alley hummed with noise, a busy Thursday night. A couple families took up lanes, and several regulars nodded at Sips as they passed. Trott enjoyed the way Sips commanded a certain respect here that was both the same and different from what the Garbage Court did.

“Your turn.” Sips marked off his score, and took a drink of his beer. The bowling alley was old, by human standards. It had paper score cards, and none of the flashy electronic screens of newer places. Sips had definite preferences, and even if Trott found the stubborn clinging to old traditions wearisome, he didn’t show it. It mattered to Sips, and Trott could accept that. Sips didn’t expect Trott to give a damn, and Trott didn’t bowl normally, so it didn’t matter. 

Trott hefted the bowling ball, a swirling silver and blue thing he’d picked off the rack. He was glad Sips hadn’t even made a comment about it. 

“So stand here…” Sips guided him, his hands resting chaste and light on Trott as he walked him through the motions. It was harder than it looked, Trott realized, controlling this awkward weight. His first ball wobbled down the lane. But it managed to knock over a few pins.

“Good start.” With a grin, Sips clapped him on the shoulder. Trott leaned back into the touch, the beginnings of a sly smile on his face. Sips waggled his eyebrows.

“Better not be trying to flirt your way to a win, Trott.”

“I’d never,” Trott declared, mock offended. He did put a swing in his step as he walked back to the console, leaning over to mark down his score. 

“Don’t cheat either.”

“Does Smith?”

“Oh Smiffy always tries to cheat,” Sips laughed. “He’s not good at that either.”

Sips picked up his own ball, the bubblegum pink almost red in the lights. Trott slid back into his seat, the rented bowling shoes pinching his toes ever so slightly. He could see why Sips had his own bowling shoes. There was something very peculiar about wearing shoes worn by so many others. It made him wonder about the magical implications of such a thing.

It was easy and calm, a change from the miserable time that Trott spent fixing Smith’s latest chaos. Trott was still angry with him for being so reckless and just flat out foolish. Ross at least had the grace to act ashamed when Trott confronted them, but Smith was all spiteful defiance. Predictably, the conversation devolved into shouting in a mix of languages. Cold and furious, Trott never went to bed. Just stayed up all night making calls and scheduling meetings, doing the work to make certain the death of the rusalka wouldn’t bring them grief. He’d met with the humans to make reports about the disturbance disappear and keep Kirin’s spies out of his hair. Then some of the unaffiliated fae, to reaffirm the Garbage Court’s neutrality and make it clear this was a personal matter, not one of policy. The bitter undines seemed skeptical but Trott felt like they wouldn’t cause trouble. At least not yet. 

They bowled a couple rounds, drinking cheap beer in plastic cups. It tasted bitter and watery, but Trott didn’t mind. He wasn’t here for the beer, or the music that veered erratically through ancient songs and current pop radio hits. He was just here to be, to relax, to not worry so much about the blood and terror and delicate balances of the city. Only time would tell if Smith’s jealous fury would do more harm. Trott thought he should talk to Ross about it, in the next day or two when things were calmer. He wanted to know just how far the rusalka had taken him, what lure had drawn Ross to her. It was a worrisome thought, the idea that some other fae’s magic could prey on Ross so well. It wasn’t hard to understand Smith’s reaction; Smith was terribly protective of Ross. Trott just wished Smith could react without being quite so reckless.

Sips raised his fist with a triumphant grin, and Trott raised his cup. They washed away thoughts of blood with more beer, and bowling in a completely normal bowling alley full of ordinary people.

 

* * *

 

Outside, Trott’s breath steamed in the air. Spring was here, but not entirely. He leaned back against the side of the building, watching Sips light a cigarette. The spark flared, a tiny orange flame in Sips’ hands. Sips took a deep breath, tasting the cold air and smoke. He studied Trott, his affected nonchalance. 

“What’cha wanna do?” asked Sips. The cigarette in hand glowed, white paper and orange ember vivid in the shadow Sips cast. The lights over the parking lot shed their pale, soulless glow over the pavement. 

“Dunno.” Trott shrugged, and propped one foot up against the bricks. He was glad to be back in his own shoes, certain of his footing.

“You look like a movie hooligan,” Sips chuckled. Trott raised an eyebrow, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I’m definitely not the hooligan in this group.” There was a hardness to his face for a moment. 

“No,” Sips agreed. He stepped closer, taking another drag from his cigarette. The smoke drifted over their heads, into the light. He liked this moment, the movie quality to it. 

“Definitely more pretty than any hooligans I knew growing up.” Sips’ breath was warm on Trott’s neck when he leaned in close. “Worlds more dangerous, too.”

Trott laughed, lifting his chin. He closed his eyes, savoring the brush of Sips’ lips over his neck. 

“So... I’m thinking we leave those two chuckleheads at home, and check into a hotel.” Sips twisted around, settling his back against the wall beside Trott. Their shoulders touched, and Sips lifted his cigarette back to his lips.

“Hmmm.” Trott considered the idea. There was a certain appeal to it. Trott knew the time away helped, that it would give Smith time to calm himself some. Picking a fight with another fae right out in the open was bad enough, and they’d been lucky it hadn’t been someone from the sidhe court. Trott wasn’t foolish enough to begrudge Smith the pleasure of killing. Just the carelessness of it.

Sips held up a credit card between two fingers. Trott recognized it, and laughed again.

“Picking Smith’s pockets now?”

“Just doing laundry, Trott. Finders keepers on anything that falls out in the dryer.”

“Alright, take me somewhere that has fancy bathrobes and room service.” Trott nudged his shoulder harder into Sips. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Everyone could use a break. 

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Sips leaned over to kiss him, the scratch of stubble and chemical tang of smoke so familiar it made Trott dizzy. Their foreheads bumped, and Trott caught Sips’ lip between his teeth. They grinned at each other. 

 

* * *

 

From the window, Trott could see most of downtown. The night glittered, the lights especially bright in the chilly spring air. In the reflection, he could see Sips pick up the phone to dial room service.

“Yeah, this is 1204. I’m gonna need a bottle of champagne, and a couple of steaks… bloody, still breathing… yeah. No. No, just send some bread and butter. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.” Sips held the phone between his ear and shoulder, studying a room service menu at arm’s length. He didn’t want to consider he might need glasses. It was just dim in the enormous room.

Trott smiled to himself, and slipped off his jacket. He was pleased Smith’s stolen credit card worked. The hotel was nice, one of the older fancy places in the city center. The bed looked big enough for four, and there was a comfortable sitting room with a sofa, a dining table, and a chaise by the window. Trott walked the room idly, touching things while Sips flipped the channels on the television. It was ostentatious in that peculiar way, gilded and shining. Everything was fake, but good looking fakes. He opened the bathroom door and paused to stare around.

“Bathtub giving you a boner?” asked Sips, putting his hands on Trott’s waist. He was quietly pleased with himself for the room, the night. Everyone needed a break, and a king should know how to keep his people happy. Sips knew when to walk out of a room, and Trott definitely needed a night off from Smith.

“It is rather large.” Trott studied the shining fixtures, the enormous tub that looked deep and long enough for him to lay within, the piles of fluffy towels on the wall shelves and the robes hanging beside the door. Everything gleamed, polished and clean. Their bathroom at home never looked so nice. 

“Maybe after dinner you should have a nice soak,” Sips suggested. His lips grazed the line of Trott’s neck again. Twisting around, Trott shoved Sips against the wall. Pressed full length against him, Trott kissed him hard enough to bruise. He could feel Sips’ pulse thudding under his palm, and Sips’ hand in the middle of his back. Trott pushed his leg between Sips’ knees.

“Definitely later,” Trott breathed when they broke apart at the sound of a knock. Sips licked his lips, his lazy smile giving Trott a little thrill.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t think you even liked this stuff,” Trott said, watching the bubbles of the champagne in his glass. He stood by the table, with their half eaten food and half drunk champagne amidst the heavy plates and utensils. Something about the wreckage of it evoked some long hidden memory, a thought of a feast and plates and golden goblets. He couldn’t quite place it, and the memory slipped away like a fish. Trott picked a shred of meat from between his teeth.  


“Eh, when in Rome, Trott.” Sips stretched out on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table on top of a book about the city museums and a guide to restaurants. He patted his lap and jerked his chin. Trott smirked at him. He was barefoot now, but still dressed. Careful not to spill his glass, he straddled Sips’ lap. Sips smiled, pleased and full of an expensive meal. This was the sort of strange life he’d imagined having when he was nineteen. Just maybe not an inhuman lover who had killed more people than Sips ever would. But he couldn’t complain, right now. It was good, and Trott’s trousers were pulled tight, his knees on either side of Sips’ legs.

“Gonna be hard to watch television like this,” Trott said.

“Nothing good on anyway.” Sips tapped his glass to Trott’s, and they both drank. The champagne fizzed in his mouth, pinpricks of carbonation and the sharp taste very different from what Sips usually drank. But this was a special occasion, he told himself. 

Trott let his empty glass fall to the floor, where it rolled in the thick carpet. He dragged his hands up Sips’ chest, nails catching in his tshirt. Sips’ hand rested on Trott’s thigh, heavy and warm.

“Careful, don’t spill your drink,” Trott warned. He shifted forward, grinding himself against Sips’ lap and dipping his head to bite Sips’ shoulder. He heard the clatter of the glass hitting the side table, and then Sips’ arms were around his back. They kissed with an absurd urgency, hands sliding over each other and under clothes.

Sips pushed Trott onto his back on the sofa, one hand working at his belt. His tongue traced wet circles over Trott’s skin as he pulled down Trott’s trousers. The baseball cap got in the way, the brim bumping into Trott’s stomach. Sips tossed it somewhere without looking. He could find it later.

“Fuck,” Trott groaned. He kicked away his clothes, and hooked one leg over Sips’ shoulder. The feeling of Sips’ hands and mouth on his skin made him shiver.

“Relax, Trott, I got you.” Sips’s hands gripped his hips. He licked Trott’s cock, making him twitch and harden. 

Trott pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds he made. Dimly, he registered the sound of Sips’ voice. He closed his eyes and arched his back as Sips began to suck him off with enthusiasm. 

Sliding his hand across the slick microfiber cushions, Trott closed his eyes. He rubbed his leg against Sips’ back, enjoying the solid comfort of Sips between his legs. 

Biting down on his wrist, Trott groaned again. Sips’ hand squeezed his ass, and he picked up the pace. He didn’t pull faces or linger the way Smith did, but it was straightforward and simple pleasure. 

“Fuck, Sips, you- that’s good.” Trott’s ragged breath punctuated his words. He thought he heard Sips laugh, the sound muffled in skin and flesh. Trott panted and moaned as Sips worked him easily, knowing all the ways Trott liked to be touched. 

Arching up, he let himself grip Sips’ head in both hands. His hair was not even long enough for Trott to pull. Not that he wanted to stop whatever Sips was doing with his tongue now. Trott came, not holding himself back. 

“Should lay off the coffee,” Sips muttered, sitting up and wiping his mouth. He grimaced at Trott, and gave him a gentle shove.

“Not to your taste?” Trott laughed, a bit breathless.

“Bitter as the day is long, Trott.” Sips picked up his champagne glass and drained it, swishing it around in his mouth as Trott clutched his stomach and laughed.

“Hell of a way to thank a man for a blow job,” Sips grumbled. But he grinned, gladdened by the sight of Trott’s mirth.

 

* * *

 

Between the champagne and the sex, Trott felt gloriously sated and languid. He could tell it was late, even without Sips yawning and blaming the champagne. His bones ached, deep down. Trott didn’t want to admit how tired he was, and he fumbled absently with his buttons as he staggered into the bathroom.

“Let me help you with that,” Sips said, his voice a low rumble. Shrugging, Trott acquiesced. Sips unbuttoned Trott’s shirt and tugged it off, letting it fall on the bathroom counter. Naked, Trott stretched his arms over his head. In the mirror, he tracked Sips’ admiring gaze, one hand tracing a faint scar over Trott’s hip. There were many things unsaid. But it didn’t bother Sips, and he didn’t think it bothered Trott. 

Sips turned away, looking at the bath tub. The water bubbled out in a steady stream. Trott sat down on the edge, swirling his fingers through it.

“Not the ocean, but it will do,” he murmured. 

Movement from the corner of his eye made Trott look up, and he raised his eyebrows.

“You are sly, your majesty.” He took the proffered plastic bag from Sips’ hand. 

“Just a man with a plan, Trott.” Sips looked pleased with himself. “I made Ross tell me where you kept all your shit, what you needed.”

“So he knows we won’t be home tonight…”

“Yeah, and he knows to keep Smiffy in and out of trouble.” Sips hadn’t bothered to lecture Ross about Smith and killing. Instead he’d gotten Ross to show him the jars of Trott’s little peculiar collection, like some weird home remedy apothecary in the bathroom cabinet. Ross quietly helped him pour the different things into a sandwich bag, carefully sealing it up while Sips searched on his phone for a hotel listing with pictures of the bathtubs. 

Trott laughed quietly, shaking the salt, seaweed and powdered bone into the water. The room took on a faintly marine smell, and the water rippled when Trott spoke a word. It shimmered in the light, tiny waves lapping at the edges. 

“You get bored, there’s plenty of room in the bed.” Sips thought Trott looked better already. Less wound up, less angry. 

“I know.” Trott rose and kissed Sips, much more gently this time. 

“Anytime, Trott.” Sips ruffled Trott’s hair affectionately. “I’m going to use that big, empty bed if you need me.” He shuffled into the bedroom, the closed bathroom door leaving a narrow slash of light along the floor. With a grunt, Sips flung himself across the bed without bothering to turn down the blankets. He fell asleep even before he finished undressing.

 

* * *

 

In the quiet, Trott sank into his bath. The hotel tub was wide, enough that he could spread his arms out as he laid down instead of being folded tight. His fingers moved over the slick surface, scratching invisible words to complete the illusion of a temporary ocean. In the rippled comfort of salt water, he opened his mouth to breathe. The cold rushed into him, soothing and clean. 

Anyone could breathe air. But Trott was born breathing water, and it was the most natural thing in the world to him. The relief from breathing in the grime and grit, the scent of human beings and metal, was a deep and physical thing. He tried not to let himself do this too often, feeling weak for how much he wanted it. 

Sometimes when he felt sick or sad, too weary of all this time on dry land, Trott slept in the bath. Not often. It tended to unnerve Sips, he noticed. That knowledge made this particular gift all the stranger and kinder. Trott felt that little ache in his chest that he refused to name for fear of losing it. 

Under the water, Trott closed his eyes and went to sleep for the first time in two days. 


End file.
